Monster? I'm a Hero
by Avra Kedavra
Summary: Armina Hart is considered the darkest witch in Europe—trained by Grindelwald himself—and she's on a mission, for the Greater Good. No sacrifice is too great, no obstacle too large and no magic too dark. Though, she must admit, things become much more complicated once she finds her soulmate. And who knew life among teenagers was so hard? TMR/OC; very AU; adopted from Sephoria2
1. Chapter 1

Prologue

 **Berlin, Germany. October, 1931**

It was raining again, but she didn't care. She did not care that her long blonde hair was soaked, nor that her dress was sticking to her skin, nor even that the rain lashing down was irritating the angry bruise on her cheek. She didn't care that she was bitterly cold, shivering so violently that she could barely move and that her lips were turning blue.

She missed them too much for all those other things to matter: her mama, her papa and dear grandmamma. She missed the warm summer nights they'd spend together out in the back garden; missed the sounds of their voices and the feel of gentle touches. That was all in the past though. "Don't live in the past," her papa had always said.

Now was the present: this October afternoon, this cold street, this pelting rain—they were all what mattered. Now she languished in these summer nights—nights so hot and oppressive that it seemed altogether possible she'd drown in her own sweat. Nowadays, all she knew was the sharp pain of the rod that endlessly battered her small body and the harsh discordant shouting of Madam Bach, the Matron at the orphanage that gave her some semblance of refuge but little else.

It would never be home, that orphanage. How could it be? They thought her a freak there, because she saw things that were not happening (yet) and could do things considered impossible by the common man. It wasn't her fault they weren't gifted like she was. "You are special," her grandmama used to say, "and you are strong. You can see twice as clearly as I. Did you know that, schatzi?" The question would come with a gentle kiss between the eyes, and she remembered giggling up at the old woman, understanding the fondness in the words if not what they truly meant.

But that was the past again. They were all dead now, and there was no one to protect her from the cruelty surrounded by which she lived.

They didn't care either, the people walking by; they were helpless and hurried themselves, and merely glanced apathetically at the four-year-old sitting alone at the side of the street. Not one man had stopped to offer her help, a warm coat or some spare coin for a piece of bread. Not one man had even bothered to give her a second look; their eyes slid over her as if she wasn't there, or as if she was a ghost. They had their own families to feed, these hurried German people.

All eyes forgot her, but not his—the eyes of that strange man who had been examining her for the past hour.

He was an odd man, but one that everyone seemed to overlook. It was extraordinary, she thought, that they did not see him, as he wasn't exactly the sort of person who could fade away into the backround. His shoulder-length blond hair and angular face were striking; he was a very handsome man in rather expensive-looking clothes. She could tell by the way the rain seemed to bounce off him that he was magical—a wizard like her father. But most extraordinarily of all, he'd noticed her: the ghost-girl making her rounds of the back-alleys, pickpocketing and begging.

She watched him settle on a bench and observed his smile for her, his silent invitation to "Come here; sit with me." Approaching him slowly and with more than a little trepidation, she climbed up onto the bench beside him. It was dry there, and warm, and she was thankful for the reprieve from the harsh weather.

"It is a strange occurrence to find a witch so young as you, alone in the Muggle world." The man spoke suddenly, breaking the bastion of silence that had encased them for the few minutes it took her to control her shivers and rub feeling back into her numb limbs.

"Stranger things happen," she replied, licking her lips nervously. From her careful distance from him, pressed against the edge of the bench, she watched him smirk down at her, amusement dancing in his eyes, and felt her insides warm the littlest bit.

"You are as charming as you are beautiful, young one. Where are your guardians?"

"Near," she said, on the defensive. There was something off about this man; she could sense it. She had long ago been forced to learn a reliance on her intuition, and it was rarely wrong. It was something she knew she had inherited from her family.

"They do not appear to be, my dear," he replied mockingly, an arch to his pale eyebrows. "You appear to be as alone in the world as I am."

She got up to leave, unwilling to play the mind-games that seemed to interest him. She was tired and hungry and although she knew the only thing waiting for her at the orphanage was another beating, she decided she was ready to return there.

"Come home with me, dear one," he called after her. Something in his tone compelled her to turn back.

"Why should I?"

"It is obvious you are not being treated as you should," he said, indicating the rags that clothed her, gesturing covertly at the bruise at her cheek. "I see a desperation in you, dear one; I see anger. I can help you destroy them—they that hurt you. I can make you so strong if only you believe and trust in me." His voice held an urgency, a genuine one, as if the thing he needed most in the world was for her to go away with him.

"And if I will not go?"

"Then you can go back and hope a better offer comes to you," he answered shortly, staring into her eyes with an uncomfortable amount of intensity. "I believe I can assure you, however, that this will not happen."

"Why me?"

"Why not?" he countered roguishly.

Of course he knew already she would come with him, because he knew only too well the hunger and anger that burned within her. She was too young to understand the full force of her own feelings, but when she did, he would be there to mold her as he desired.

"Where will you take me?" she questioned, trying to ignore the hopefulness that bloomed inside her chest. He would change her life, she knew. The pressure building at the back of her head, at the top of her spine, practically screamed the fact.

"Munich, my lovely—to my castle, where there is no doubt you'll be respected and awed. You will become strong and powerful, as long as you follow my lead. There will be hard work, and you will have to prove yourself, yes, but I have no doubt that you will take to it like a duck to water." He spoke animatedly, and all the while that pirate's smile never left his face.

"You'll not hurt me?" she asked in little more than a whisper, looking up hopefully into his sparkling blue eyes.

"I will not lie: There will be hurt. But for the Greater Good, this pain will become so insignificant that you will barely notice it. You may even come to live for it." The last phrase he said in a seductive whisper, his wild eyes glinting. He leaned toward her, arms outstretched to invite her.

"I want to be strong," she admitted. She found herself unwillingly captivated by the dream he had spun.

"I will make you strong," he promised. "Come away with me now."

"I will come," she whispered biting her lip. She smiled hopefully up at this man who promised her a new world: a world where she wouldn't be stepped on and beaten bloody; a world where she held all the power a girl could want; a world where she could be a princess.

Taking his outstretched hand, she gently tugged him to his feet, and they watched the Muggles pass, ignorant and uncaring.

"What is your name, my lovely?" He asked, smiling warmly down at her.

"Armina. Armina Hart."

"Well, Armina, mine is Gellert Grindelwald, but you, my child, may call me your Daddy."

* * *

 _Author's Note:_ Hey everyone! Yeah, it's been awhile, but here I am with a new-ish story... New to me, anyway.

I don't own Harry Potter; J.K. Rowling does. I don't own this story; Sephoria2 does. You can read her version by the same title _Monster? I'm a Hero_ on her page, which I suggest you do because it's amazing.

I'd just like to say that things will change in this version, but not many things.

The most striking change is the name of the main character—Thalia Hart to Armina Hart. The name Thalia is of Greek origin and means "gentle wind", whereas the name Armina is of Germanic origin and means "weapon". I did this because I thought the meaning was more fitting to the nature of the character; I hope no one minds.

Seriously, all the thanks in the world to Sephoria2 for letting me do this. I have a lot of ideas, and can't wait to move this thing along.

Enjoy!

—Avra Kedavra


	2. Chapter 2

Chapter I.

 **King's Cross Station, London, England / Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry, Scotland. 1 September, 1944**

She had hoped the hustle and bustle of King's Cross Station would lessen as she stepped onto Platform Nine-and-Three-Quarters, but if anything, the chaos increased. The screeching of anxious owls; the screaming, crying and general chattering of the families; and finally, the smoke and absurdly shrill whistle of the gleaming red Hogwarts Express were enough to wake the dead. This place was already giving her a headache and she had only been there five minutes. The quiet serenity of country life had soothed her, and she didn't find the disorder and confusion of the city pleasant at all.

The traveler sighed in resignation; it seemed her head would have to be the first great sacrifice for the cause, and there was no way around it. So taking a fortifying swig of headache tonic mixed with something else, she forced her way through the throng of people up to the train, hindered all the while by her school trunk.

With a mental groan and a curse for her petite stature, she boarded the train and tried, physically, to pull her trunk aboard with her. She had some rather unsavory ideas for whomever legislated the restriction on underage magic and gave another futile tug on her baggage. Maybe she could use a simple Levitation Charm to get it up and... And then maybe get herself expelled and completely and single-handedly ruin the magnum opus of almost-villainous scheming.

"Merlin's cock," she swore, making another futile attempt with the trunk.

She was momentarily stunned when, at the precise moment that she reached for her wand, the trunk was lifted and placed carefully on the luggage rack. Whirling around, wand raised, she was faced with an older boy, black hair as unruly and uncharted as a forest.

"Thought you could do with some help," the boy said raising his hands in surrender.

Feeling the heat rush to her face, she lowered her wand and dropped her gaze submissively. She stowed it, and took a moment to tug subconsciously at her ragged and rather ill-fitting robes; she must have appeared utterly impoverished standing beside this boy, whose tailored black robes seemed to taunt that "I'm rich and you are not. Look: I'm rich. You are most certainly not."

"Thank you," she mumbled, pushing thoughts of social class as far away as her mind would allow. She shuffled her feet awkwardly so that they sloshed in the dirty trainers half a size too large for her.

"It's no trouble, really. Does a beauty like you have a name?" His smile was bright.

"It's Anastasia, but they usually just call me Anna. It's shorter, I guess." She paused before introducing herself, cursing herself for forgetting this endeavour's name—stolen from Budapest. " _No, you fool,_ " the deepest part of her chastised, " _It wasn't Budapest; it was Warsaw._ " She covered her mistake by blushing again and tucking back a wild black curl; Anna was just anxious—unused to introducing herself.

"It's a pleasure to make your acquaintance, Anna. My name's James." He sketched her a mocking bow, and Anna giggled. He may have said more, but at that moment, a black-haired, grey-eyed youth bounded up to them, clapping James hard on the back.

"Oi! There you are. Come on, we have just enough time to get Peter's mum right pissed before the train leaves," the grey-eyed youth said, grinning mischievously.

"I was just helping Anna with her trunk, Sirius. I'm coming now; don't have a cow."

Sirius turned and looked her up and down for what seemed an eternity. Anna could feel her blush deepen as his eyes lingered on her full lips, and then her breasts. "I haven't seen you around here before," he said finally, frowning down at her.

"I'm new," she said shortly, glancing shyly away from him.

"Oh," he grunted dismissively, then turned back to James. "Come on, James. The train's gonna leave soon." He shot Anna knother scornful look, and dragged his friend back out onto the crowded platform.

Anna stared after them for a moment, feeling oddly exposed and embarrassed and remarkably insignificant. Sirius had dismissed her as though she was nothing more than vermin, little more than a nuissance, and it had been quite a long time since anyone had treated her that way and lived long enough to tell about it.

Slumping forward slightly to conduct a thorough examination of the floor, Anna went forth to find an empty compartment. This low status was certainly something she'd have to get used to.

* * *

Anna found a compartment easily enough, and she risked a Levitation Charm to settle her trunk on the luggage rack, after removing her leather-bound sketchbook of course.

She held her book tightly, watching the families on the platform with a wintry detachment. Long ago, it became vital not to think of the family she had always wanted, as it brought her nothing but pain and punishment. So she just watched them say their farewells with her signature frigidness and forced down the wistful curiosity which bubbled in the depths of her mind. What was this like? How did it feel to be sent off to school by a loving guardian and asked to "Write often, and remember to come home for Christmas, won't you?" What was that like?

The train gave its warning whistle and slowly began to pull away from the platform. The parents said their last I-love-yous and the children were shut up in their compartments. Anna turned to her sketchbook when the figures on the platform were no larger than dolls. She had no interest in watching the partially-destroyed city flash past. Anna needed no reminders.

As the train sped through London, the compartment door opened and two boys tumbled in. The boy who had opened the door was lanky and ginger, with more freckles than one would dare to count, and the other was a slightly chubby brown-haired boy. Upon seeing her, the fat one started with a nervous squeak and toppled into his friend. "Oi, mate!" Exclaimed the ginger.

These two were shortly joined by a bushy-haired girl, who stepped past them, frowning anxiously at Anna. "Do you mind if we join you? Everywhere else is full." The girl spoke rather stiffly after a moment of awkward silence, in which it became clear neither of the boys were going to ask.

A bit startled, Anna gestured for them to sit.

"Thanks. This is Neville," the girl introduced, pointing to the chubby boy, "And that's Ron." She indicated the lanky ginger. "I'm Hermione."

"Anna," she introduced quietly and with a shy smile. She expertly hid her distaste, and subtly leaned away from Ron who had plonked himself down a little too close to her for comfort.

"You're new," Ron remarked bluntly, and Anna flinched. She was coming to dislike this position as the stranger in a strange land: It drew unnecessary attention like a flame drew moths.

"Ron!" Hermione admonished, clearly embarrassed by his forthrightness.

"What?" he asked, confused and unabashed, and then he continued undressing Anna with his eyes.

"Yeah. My old school allowed me to exchange," Anna explained, and she lowered her dark head slightly in submission. She let a curtain of hair fall between her face and Ron's unashamed staring. This was new too: to be sought as a lover and not a piece of power, and Anna didn't like it at all.

"Oh, what school?" Hermione asked eagerly, leaning forward in her seat. Anna fought the urge to laugh; Hermione resembled a puppy looking for praise, but not even the most servile dog displayed this unashamed craving for knowledge.

"It was a small private school in Belgium. I'm quite sure you've never heard of it," Anna said, wide-eyed and desperately fighting the urge to tell a more outlandish story. ("It was the school of kings once, but was infiltrated by giant, man-eating slugs last year." Or "It was a school of thieves, where we learned to use magic for personal gain and nothing else." Would have done just as well.)

"Belgium!" Ron cried out. "You don't sound like you're from Belgium though, do you?"

"Oh, and I suppose you've met loads of people from Belgium then, have you, Ronald?" Hermione snapped, eyebrows rising. "Honestly, your lack of culture astounds me."

"Well, no. But still. Don't they speak French there?" Ron asked, turning his gaze back to Anna, awaiting an explanation.

"I spent my summer holidays in London, with my Uncle. I guess my accent faded," she replied meekly—almost ashamedly, as though losing one's accent was the greatest of patriotic humiliations. "And we do speak French sometimes. I speak it quite well."

"So what are you going to Hogwarts for then? Why not Beauxbatons?"

"Ron!" Hermione nearly shouted, appalled at his bluntness and rudess, as well she should be. If Anna had spoken to anyone as Ron was speaking now...

"What?" Ron asked, annoyance colouring his voice. "It's just a question. I want to know!"

"I can't go back to my old school," Anna said mournfully. She looked down at the leather cover of her sketchbook, and fiddled with it nervously. She would not think about her circumstances. She would not dwell on her magnum opus, lest one of these idiots show a hidden talent for Ligilimency...

"Why?" Hermione asked. It appeared curiosity overruled a desire for politeness, but even so, upon asking the question, she blushed.

"I'd rather not say, if you don't mind," Anna muttered, turning away from the group and looking out the window.

London was rapidly disappearing, to be replaced with a more pastoral view. Anna found that it was more to her liking: an ocean of green fields with wildflowers swimming through it like fish. There were lone houses here and there, and maybe animals, but the train was moving too rapidly for her to see them clearly.

"Oh come on; it can't be that bad," Ron assured. "Did you set the school on fire? 'Cause Fred and George did that once, and Mum thought they'd be expelled. We all thought it was great though."

"No it wasn't! It was dangerous, not to mention irresponsible and stupid and illegal." Hermione's explosion was loud, shrill and indignant. Anna's head twinged.

"Oh shut up, Hermione! You always have to take the fun out of everything," Ron nearly shouted back.

"I'm not—"

"My parents were killed in the War, so I can't go back. There's no one to go back to," Anna spat, cutting through their bickering. She left a Russian-winter silence behind the admission, but she was grateful for it. Their petty argument was doing no favors for her pounding head.

Hermione and Ron slumped back into the seat cushions, passion-spent and red-faced. The silence hung heavy and tense between them, while outside the compartment, children ran up and down the corridors. Anna stared out the window, hoping the view would calm her, and she held her sketchbook protectively against her chest. " _They know nothing,_ " she thought. " _These people know nothing of tact, of sacrifice, of war._ " On some emotional level, she hoped they never would.

"You have the strangest eyes I've ever seen," Neville said suddenly, shattering the silence. Judging by the redness of his round face and the sheen of sweat that appeared on his brow, he hadn't meant to voice that thought.

Anna refused to look at him, and refused to consider responding. She hated how extraordinary her eyes were—large and pale-green and much different than the eyes of those around her. Different was bad; different could get a girl locked away or put to work or killed. Besides, if they were dull and brown, it would be a lot more difficult for Him to find her. She could blend in with ease.

Drawing her knees up to her chest, Anna flipped her sketchbook open and began to draw—something abstract, angular and harsh.

She heard the others start to talk again after a few more awkward minutes but chose to keep out of the conversation. They ignored her in turn, and she found that their dismissal was no great loss after awhile.

* * *

Anna stepped off the train and followed the crowd of students toward the carriages that waited for them. She wasn't best pleased at having to leave her trunk behind, but she was unable to shrink the blasted thing and bring it with her—not with Hermione's hawk-like gaze following her every movement.

Catching sight of the carriages, Anna felt her mouth tighten with distaste. Thestrals, black and foreboding, pawed the ground impatiently from their places hitched to the coaches. " _What sort of a school,_ " she wondered, " _allows its students to be transported by Death's creatures?_ " She ignored the beasts: Just because she could see, didn't mean her persona could see them too.

It was only by forcing her way through the throng, jostling students as she went, that Anna found a place for herself: in a carriage with a group of second-years. While they laughed and compared summer holidays, she settled back in her seat and prepared for the oncoming performance.

* * *

As she climbed the short flight of steps up to the castle's entrance hall, Anna found her attention quickly pulled from the grandeur of the space around her by someone calling her name: "Miss Harrow? Miss Anastasia Harrow!"

Whirling around, a bit on edge and a bit in awe, Anna was confronted by a rather austere woman with greying black hair. That hair was twisted up, and probably magicked, into the most severe bun she'd ever seen; it had probably never flowed freely down the woman's back. "Yes?" She asked cautiously. This woman reminded her of a lonely dragon: fierce, sad, lonely and weighed down with the knowledge that her time was near its end and there was nothing to show for that.

"My name is Professor McGonagall. I am the Deputy Headmistress of the school, and I will be your Transfiguration teacher for the duration of your stay here. Headmaster Dumbledore thinks it best that you be sorted after the first year students." Her lips pursed into a thin line, and the corners of her mouth turned themselves down; it was quite apparent what Professor McGonagall thought of this idea. "Now, if you could just wait in here, Miss Harrow, I will come and fetch you when it is your turn." And with that, she forcefully ushered Anna into an antechamber of the Great Hall and snapped the door shut behind her.

Feeling rather affronted at the unceremonious manner in which she'd come to be standing outside the Great Hall, rather than sitting in it, Anna turned to the wall she suspected the antechamber and the Hall shared, and pressed her hands against it. Of course she could stand here, feeling trapped and slightly panicked, or she could do some simple reconnaisance. The tingle of magic flowed over her hands as she patiently watched part of the wall's colour slowly bleed away, until the surface was crystal-clear: a window through which she could view the goings-on in the hall, without the annoyance of surveillance.

The first things to catch her eye were the four long tables that dominated the room, around which the students sat. She knew what they were—house tables—and she understood the grouping of students that surrounded each one: Gryffindor for the "brave of heart", Hufflepuff for the "loyal and good", Ravenclaw for the "knowledge-seekers" and Slytherin for the "sort that use any means to achieve their ends." Her aim was, of course, Ravenclaw; there she would be left alone to fade into the background of school life and expected to excel in academics, which she was more than confident she could do. Anna did not want the critical eye of the school to fall on her, lest news find its way to Him. Besides, she needed time to scheme in peace, something she wouldn't get with teenage voltures breathing down her neck. " _You are their peer, you foolish girl,_ " she scolded herself.

The second thing that caught her attention was the jovial, white-haired man sat upon his throne at the Staff table, watching the sorting of the first years with a warm, benevolent smile on his face. Albus Dumbledore. The smile turned her stomach and made her heart beat a war tattoo against her ribcage. Anna took a deep breath to steady herself. She couldn't help dumping some of the blame for what happened to her at his feet; after all, he had helped to create Him, albeit unwillingly.

The third thing she noticed was the man beside Dumbledore. His hair was as black as the New Moon at midnight, and he had the most piercing blue eyes she'd ever seen: dark-blue and glittering like sapphires. She felt her magic reach out to him, pulling her with it using so much force that she found herself pressed against the one-way glass in an attempt to get closer. Pressure began to build in the back of head, at the base of her spine. This man was, most certainly, important.

Shaking off the feeling of premonition with all the vehemence she had, Anna frowned once again. This could complicate things, she decided worriedly. He was stunningly handsome but she could afford no mistakes or distractions. She had a purpose here, and she would fullfill it, at all costs. "Sacrifices must be made for the Greater Good." Wasn't that what He always said?

" _My happiness is insignificant anyway,_ " Anna thought wistfully, turning her attention back to the present.

Dumbledore stood, once the sorting had finished, and gestured with some covertness to McGonagall. Seeing this as her cue, Anna pulled her hands away from the wall, watching it solidify into the stone from whence it had come.

"Miss Harrow, if you could come this way please?" McGonagall said, opening the door to the antechamber. She took one glance at Anna before turning on her heel and sweeping from the room. Anna scurried after the professor, feeling the pressure of many eyes weighing down her back.

"As all of you can see, we have a new student—from a school in Belgium. Miss Harrow joins us in the sixth year of her magical education, and I do hope all of you will make her feel welcome here for the duration of her stay," Dumbledore addressed the student body. Turning his twinkling blue eyes to observe the subject of his address, he gestured for her to climb onto the stool at the front of the hall.

Gulping nervously, Anna kept her head bowed, barely able to keep her eyes off the mysterious individual seated beside the Headmaster. His magic was affecting her far more than she was comfortable with, and it was surprisingly, and deliciously, dark. Next to the horrendous brightness and acidity of Dumbledore's magic, it felt like an oasis in a desert.

Making her way carefully to the stool, she stumbled on her dirty trainers, and fell to her knees with a dull thud. Sniggering and chuckling rippled through the silent hall as the students delighted in her humiliation. " _Damn these inadequate shoes,_ " she cursed. At least Anna's awful balance would put them off her trail; it seemed unnecessary for them to know that she could duel and dance a ballet simultaneously, without ever missing a target.

Standing once again on shaky legs, Anna practically ran to the stool and sat, ignoring the throbbing pain in her shins. She wrapped her aura more tightly around her body and waited for the Sorting Hat to be placed on her head.

" _What do we have here, then?_ " a male voice whispered in her right ear. Anna stiffened: If there was one thing she hated above all others, it was an invasion of privacy, and her mind was the most private place she had. She tightened her occlumency shields so the hat could only access her shallow surface thoughts. Nothing else.

" _Put me in Ravenclaw,_ " she demanded savagely, hoping that would be the end of it.

" _Now see here: I need to get a good look before I can sort you properly. Lower your shields, please._ "

" _No,_ " Anna replied fiercely, " _and if you call me child, I will curse you to oblivion._ "

" _I cannot sort you without—_ "

" _Put me in Ravenclaw,_ " Anna interrupted sharply.

There was no circumstance under which she'd let the Sorting Hat enter her mind. He was most likely tied to the Headmaster in some way, and Merlin only knew what the blasted thing would tell him if he saw her memories.

" _If you do not let me inside,_ " the Sorting Hat said slyly, " _I'll be forced to take more drastic measures..._ "

Anna maintained a defiant silence. Her first indication that the hat intended to keep its word was the increasing pressure of her head. Vaguely wondering what was so important that it just couldn't wait for the completion of the sorting, Anna ignored the pressure and strengthened her shields. But the pressure didn't go away: It built and intensified, and before she could quite register what was happening, she was slumping forward. She was vaguely aware of the whispers of the other students, slithering around the hall, but at that moment her main focus was the fight in her head. The presence of the hat was huge and ancient, and it pressed in on her from all sides. She wanted to rip it off her head, but she could not; Anna wouldn't do that. All she could do was fight harder than she ever had to keep her shields intact, and force an ideology of seeking knowledge to the surface.

Blood began to trickle from her nose, and she knew she wouldn't be able to keep him out for much longer. With a strangled gasp she dropped her outer shields, but defiantly fought to keep the inner one up: a fortress to protect her deepest and darkest secrets.

The Hat pressed no more. The feeling of the Hat rummaging through her head left her violated, and Anna was almost certain she'd throw up. She was exposed and vulnerable, and she felt incredibly dirty. She hadn't felt violated like this since That Night, she reflected.

Upon the Hat's retreat, she snapped her defences back into position and quickly cleared the blood from her face with wandless magic. It would not do for anyone to notice the struggle. She could only hope that her thick black hair provided a curtain to hide the struggle in progress from prying eyes.

Before she could do much more than replace her defences and shift to a more submissive position, she heard the Sorting Hat shout his verdict: "SLYTHERIN!"

" _What are you doing?_ " she shouted in her head. " _I said Ravenclaw!_ "

" _Over my torn and tattered body. If I had my way, you would be out of here faster than you could say Godric Gryffindor; you're a monster. But I do not have that power, and I cannot reveal the thoughts of students. The Slytherins will have to deal with you._ " The Hat spoke at rapid-fire in her head, and Anna found that she was legitimately offended.

" _I am no monster. I'm the hero,_ " she thought furiously, but the Hat was being lifted from her head and she was not sure he had heard.

It was then that she registered the weighty silence in the Great Hall. It seemed everyone was staring at her, faces twisted to varying degrees of anger or hatred. Three quarters of the hall despised her because she was a Slytherin, and the other quarter because she was "Muggle-born." The stares unnerved her, as Sirius's dismissal on the train had, and she couldn't have said why.

Anna moved silently along the Slytherin table nonetheless, hoping someone would make space for her. No one did. All that met her there was furious hatred. The whispers of "mudblood" and "disgrace to the House of Slytherin" told her the rest of the story. She eventually found a space at the foot of the table—a place she knew signified her new status at the bottom of the Slytherin food chain.

She could barely make out Dumbledore's words, due to the pounding headache caused by the Hat, but the appearance of food on the table made them quite clear. Taking another swig from the flask in her robes, she moved to get some food.

" _Well,_ " she thought bleakly, " _now things are really complicated._ "

* * *

 _Author's Note:_ I do not own Harry Potter; JKR does. I don't own this story, either; that honor goes to Sephoria2, and you can read her version under the same title as this one.

For both old and new readers alike, I hope you're enjoying this story!

—Avra Kedavra


	3. Chapter 3

Chapter II.

 **Munich, Germany. October, 1931**

"It is called Nurmengard, my dear one," Herr Grindelwald said, as the open caleche slowed at the bottom of a sloping gravel road. "Do you like it?"

Armina examined the castle ahead. It was large and impressive, to be sure, but it was constructed of imposing, black stone. The towers and turrets were things to be feared, not admired, and something green glowed at the battlements. It was not a fairytale castle, but She had not expected it to be. "Yes," she said matter-of-factly. "It is impressive."

He laughed. "Yes, it is. I do believe that was the point, my dear one. Come now; the carriage can go no further. I will help you down."

"What about the pega-pegasus-pegasi?" She asked, looking forlornly at the beautiful Greek horses whose unfamiliar name locked her tongue. They were black horses with large, avian wings and wild eyes. Armina liked them, and the thought of abandoning them there, cold and alone, made her feel rather uncomfortable.

"Someone will collect them," Herr Grindelwald said offhandedly, and he gracefully alighted from the caleche. "Come now, Armina. There will be food and wine inside, and a bath for you, I think is in order."

Armina giggled. "It's been awhile," she admitted, and he smiled indulgently down at her.

"I imagine it has been."

The interior of the castle was no less impressive than the exterior, Armina found. The floors were black-and-white tile or plush carpet, and the walls were covered in gorgeous tapestries and subtly attractive paintings. They stepped into a grand entrance hall, off of which branched four or five other, maze-like, corridors.

A young blonde woman scurried from a hallway to the right and curtsied to Herr Grindelwald. "Am I preparing the dungeons, My Lord?"

"No, I think not, Anja. I think a bath is in order for the child, and a hot meal for us both. Oh, and Anja?"

"Yes, My lord?" She stopped in the doorway, mid-curtsy, waiting for orders.

"Send a nigmagram to Herr Hitler, won't you? We shall have to reschedule tonight's meeting; I am otherwise engaged."

"Very good, My Lord," Anja said, and with a low curtsy, she left.

Armina watched the servant girl, puzzled. Why was she showing this man such defference, though he had not yelled or hit her? Who was he, really? He'd asked Armina to call him "Daddy", but she barely knew him. And then there was the disturbing idea of the "dungeons". Was she going to be locked away there? The child stood and wondered, wide-eyed.

But before she could ask about the phenomenon, another, dark-haired, servant girl was rushing over, and Armina found herself whisked off to a bathroom. She was scrubbed pink and then dressed in a peasant blouse and white apron over a black-and-white checked skirt.

"He won't be happy about this," the servant said, fussing with the apron-strings, "but it's all we have that will fit."

The servant girl was right; Herr Grindelwald wasn't happy at all, but he did not hurt Armina. He shoved a handful of gold coins into the girl's hands and told her that "There must be new clothes for the dear child."

Then came dinner. There was warm, flavorful bread; a rich stew of some kind, with more vegetables than Armina had seen throughout her entire time at the orphanage; cool, clear water; hot tea; and a lovely lemon cake for dessert. "Not too quickly now, my dear one," Herr Grindelwald said. "It's been a long time since you've eaten properly."

Then, bed. First, she was given a lovely white nightgown, laid out for her on the most beautiful canopied bed she'd ever seen. It was trimmed in blue flowers, and incredibly soft. The bed was a cloud, and the blankets were heated by magic. The subtle golden light of many candles lit the bedroom, but with a flick of Herr Grindelwald's wand, every single one was extinguished at once. The thrum of magic made Armina miss her Papa, and dear Grandmama. "Goodnight, my dear one."

Left in the dark, the little girl found that she was scared. The bed was too big; the blankets were too thick. Even at her family home, Armina's bed had been just her size, and she'd specially chosen every single blanket on it.

Things had moved incredibly fast, and Armina wasn't certain how she felt about that. It all seemed slightly wrong: Men didn't just come out of nowhere and adopt little girls—not without nefarious reasons.

She decided sleep was not forthcoming and that she wanted to go exploring. Sliding out of bed, Armina wrapped herself in a blanket and slipped out of the bedroom on bare feet. The stone was cold, but she didn't care. If she was careful, she wouldn't get lost and could always return to the warmth of the bed and go to sleep.

Her room was located down a side corridor, with only one other door on it. The door was just across from hers, and it was made of heavy, dark wood. It opened silently when Armina pressed a small shoulder into it, and she ghosted inside.

The room she entered was a sitting-room or a study. Bookshelves surrounded her, filled with old-looking tomes whose titles were made out in delicate gold. The table in the center of the space was glass-topped, and surrounded by three chairs: one was a comfortable-looking leather armchair, and the other two were ornate wooden creations. There was a fireplace, Armina saw—a safe distance from the bookshelves, of course—and the flames inside cracked merrily. But it was what hung above the fireplace that caught her attention: a wizarding portrait.

It had been what seemed like forever since she'd seen one, and Armina looked on in fascination as the blonde subject smiled and waved at her. The little girl waved back. The lady in the picture began to fiddle nervously with her hair.

"What is it, my dear one?"

The voice made Armina whirl around. It was Herr Grindelwald, standing with his wand held loosely at his side, in another doorway off the room, behind one of the bookshelves. "I'm sorry—I didn't mean—I haven't seen one in months and—"

He held up a hand. "And you were exploring," he finished for her.

"I'm sorry," Armina whispered.

"It's quite all right, child," he said kindly. He sat in the armchair and opened his arms. "Come now."

She watched him warily. "Why?"

"Come here. I won't hurt you."

Though Herr Grindelwald spoke kindly, a glint in his eyes betrayed him: He wasn't asking Armina to come; he ordered it.

Tentatively, Armina went to him. Without warning, Herr Grindelwald scooped her up and settled her in his lap. "Do you like that painting?" He asked softly.

Mutely, Armina nodded. Her heart was beating faster than it ever had before, and she felt a pull in her mind—a strange pull she rarely felt.

"Shh, Armina," he whispered, and rocked her gently. "Your magic is reacting, because you are afraid. Don't be afraid; I am not angry. I like the painting too."

"Is she your sister?" Armina ventured, turning to look at the man who held her.

He laughed. "No, my dear. I called her Arya, and she was my other half. They call them soul-bonded, or soul mates, in some places. Do you know anything about that?"

She shook her head: No, she did not.

"Well," Herr Grindelwald said, leaning back in his chair with the uncomfortable little girl atop him. "Before a witch or wizard finds their other half, they are an empty cup, and you fill the cup with anything. You can pour them into light magic; you can pour them into dark magic. They soak it in like sponges either way. Do you understand?"

Armina nodded quietly, although she did not.

As if he understood this, Herr Grindelwald laughed. "No, my dear; you wouldn't understand. A bound witch or wizard cannot be made into a Horcrux, nor can they be a soul sacrifice. They cannot soak up the magic necessary for either ritual, and a bound witch or wizard is never truly selfish. You see, dear one, the other half of a witch or wizard is their greatest love or their worst enemy."

"Was she your other half?" Armina whispered.

"Yes."

"Did you love her, or did you hate her?"

He put an arm around the child in his lap and said softly, "I loved her dearly. I loved her terribly, but there is a thin, thin line between love and hate, dear Armina, and playing near that line, it is dangerous."

Just then, Anja entered with a small silver tray. "My Lord? I've brought your drink."

"Thank you, Anja," Herr Grindelwald said mildly. "Put it on the desk. Yes—just there will do."

As Anja turned to leave, Armina looked back at the portrait. "She looks like that lady in the picture, doesn't she?"

* * *

 **Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry, Scotland. 1 September, 1944**

The welcoming feast seemed to drag on and on, though that perception was most probably due to the hostile stares drilling into her from nearly every corner of the Great Hall. Keeping her head down and her eyes focused on the table did nothing to dispel the hate-filled glares.

At one point, the stares seemed to become heavier than lead, and Anna glanced up, only to meet the death-stare of her mystery man. His deep-blue eyes drilled into her pale green ones; anger and disgust and something else swirled in his glare, though she was almost certain she'd done nothing to him. Anna flinched and looked away when she felt him come close to probing her mental shields. And even then, she felt drawn to him in a way she couldn't understand. Mystery man would be a problem; that was certain. Anna only wished she had the solution at that moment, so she wouldn't have to see that murderous look again.

Slumping further into her seat, she watched the last remnants of dessert disappear. Cakes, puddings and pies soaked into the golden plates, which sat on the tables, empty and clean, as though they'd never held food at all. It was rather impressive magic, Anna decided, and wished immediately to know how it worked. It could be a useful parlor trick, if not more.

Dumbledore rose to speak. "Ladies and gentlemen," he said, "now that we are all appropriately fed and watered, I bid you farewell and sweet dreams." His eyes were twinkling like mad, and Anna was certain that if he visited her dreams, they would be the opposite of "sweet."

The benches groaned as the students stood en masse; the sound vibrated through Anna's abused skull. She took a sip of headache tonic mixed with something else and rose with the crowd, only to be shoved back and forth unceremoniously as she attempted to leave the Hall, following the prefects that showed the first years around. Anna wished she had a map of the castle, but locating one had proved extraordinary difficult. It appeared that due to the ever-changing nature of the castle's geography, cartographers had not yet made a decisive sketch of the place.

They entered the dungeons and the sudden darkness soothed Anna's pounding head, though it made more than one Slytherin first year stumble. The dungeon corridors were a winding labyrinth, lit by the soft, unreliable light of sputtering found the aesthetic rather pleasing, if not altogether practical; it was subtle and dramatic at once, making it paradoxical and interesting. The party soon came upon a stretch of stone wall, pulsating with magic, which she could only assume was the doorway to Slytherin house. Once again, she found it subtle and dramatic, and wished she could say as much. But she wasn't entirely sure her persona was partial to archetecture; Anna had not decided.

"This is the entrance to the Slytherin common room. The password is Purus; that's pure in Latin, for the under-educated personages present." the prefect's tone was smug, and he shot Anna a very obvious look of disdain. Anna swallowed the lump in her throat and shuffled in after the first years. This day had brought her one humiliation too many, and she seriously doubted that her pride would ever recover.

The common room was a long and narrow space, dominated by three massive fireplaces made of black granite. The room was filled with what seemed like hundreds of ebony bookshelves. The couches were made of the finest leather, and the tables of the finest wood. Beneath their feet was dark, pristine stone. Though it was lavish and cold, the room was surprisingly dim—so dim in fact that it took her eyes a second to adjust.

"First years, stand by the fireplace for a moment. You have an introductory talk by our Head of House to look forward to." While the prefect herded the children to the specified fireplace and lined them up, Anna crept into the shadows. "That means you too, mudblood filth," the prefect said coldly, and Anna jumped. She made no move to join the line of eleven-year-olds.

Anna waited patiently behind the Slytherin first years, trying, and failing, to make herself small enough to hide behind them. She wasn't exactly tall herself at the moment, but some of the first years were surprisingly short. Anna wondered idly if she'd been that small at eleven, and decided she probably had been.

Either way, she stuck out like a sore thumb here, where nearly everyone wore expensive silk or velvet robes, which were, of course, tailored to fit them perfectly. Their hair was perfectly styled, and they were dripping in jewels. Anna stood in this pool of affluence, dressed in her secondhand robe and dirty trainers. Her wild black hair fell haphazardly over her eyes, untamed. The only pieces of jewellery she wore were under her clothes, hidden away from prying eyes. She imagined she looked like a pauper among princes, and wished she could show these foolsthat she was not, that she was richer than most of them and that if she could just change her clothes... But of course that was stupid. Her plan was too important for that.

The atmosphere was frigid and tense with anticipation. The concealed door re-opened, and in stepped her mystery man. He was a tall thin man, dressed expensively like the students. His dark hair was swept to the side slightly as if he had been in a hurry and had demanded his stylists stop halfway through. Sighting her standing in the common room, his pale, attractive face twisted into a sneer. He walked with a duellist's grace: Every movement was calculated and controlled. Dark tangy magic washed over her, tasting and teasing her own magic, suppressed as it was. She tightened her hold on her aura, suppressing a shiver; for her plan to work everyone had to think she was weak and insignificant. That was imperative, though humiliating it would be.

"Good evening. Firstly, congratulations on being sorted into the most noble and prestigious house of Hogwarts. For those who don't know, I am your Head of House, Lord Marvolo Slytherin. I will also be your Professor in Defense against the Dark Arts. The Slytherin prefects will be your first point of contact, should you have concerns or queries, but if they are unable to resolve the issue, my office door is open." The mystery man—Lord Slytherin—spoke quickly and concisely, as though he wanted to be done with this quickly. The silence that had fallen over the room when Lord Slytherin began to speak was that of a tomb, and Anna found herself grudgingly impressed. " _I could appreciate a man who silences a room like this,_ " she thought. The students listened to Lord Slytherin as if he was God, and Anna found herself rather awed by the display.

After a short pause, during which he scrutinized the students as if they were interesting scientific specimens, Lord Slytherin continued: "As Slytherins, you will be expected to act with poise, grace and dignity. There are those that will scorn you, because they are jealous of your power and riches. But should you seek retaliation, do not get caught. I will not save you if you are stupid enough to do that." He paced the room like a caged animal, and it seemed his intense stare was locked on every student individually, as opposed to the group at large. "Any individual caught rule-breaking will be punished severely. I do not tolerate incompetence or stupidity." He glared at not only the first years but the older students who'd lingered before going up to bed.

Anna observed this with some satisfaction. She felt a little less ostracized, a little less humiliated. " _If I'd have known this would happen,_ " Anna thought, " _I would have planned out another way._ "

"Any questions?" Lord Slytherin asked silkily after a minute of grave silence. No one responded, so he turned on his heel to leave.

"My Lord, if I may?" A lanky sixth-year student asked, somewhat timidly.

"Yes," Lord Slytherin practically hissed as he turned to the boy, who cowered—subtly, of course.

Gulping, the boy stood, puffed out his chest pompously, and asked, "What about the mudblood filth, my Lord? Surely the Sorting Hat made a mistake..."

Anna made her face drain of color; her pale skin turned a shade of ghastly white. Though the dread was genuine enough, Anna had learned long ago to hide it entirely, but her persona had not. Most people had not by the age of sixteen.

Every eye in the room swiveled to focus on her, and Anna was once again drawn into a staring match with Lord Slytherin. This time, she could not decipher the look he was giving her. Was that curiosity? Anger? Murder? Anna wondered idly.

"In regards to the situation pertaining to Miss Harrow, the Headmaster has stated that her sorting into Slytherin as final and absolute." Lord Slytherin looked as if saying so pained him.

Widespread muttering rippled through the common room as the students displayed their displeasure at the Headmaster's interference. That was a new development: It appeared the students were angrier with the fact that Dumbledore had put his fingers in the situation than that Anna was staying. That could be useful.

"Is there nothing you can do, my Lord?" a stunning blonde girl asked. Her hair was so bright that it was almost white in the dim light of the common room. There was veela blood in her veins, Anna guessed.

"I'm afraid not, Miss Black. Only the Headmaster could declare a re-sorting, though that is beside the point, as the Sorting Hat refuses to resort her anyway." With those parting words, Lord Slytherin departed, leaving behind the dreamy sighs of several enamored girls and, after those drifted away, a deadly silence.

"You better watch yourself, mudblood. If you're not careful you'll have a little accident," a wild-looking black-haired girl snarled. She was stunningly attractive: curvy in all the right places and with an aura of darkness and sensuality that would draw in unsuspecting and stupid men. Anna wanted to smirk. She'd met witches who could put this child to shame.

"Come now, Bella. There's no need to scare the poor girl. I'm sure she'll learn to adapt," the veela girl said mockingly, leading Bella away to stand with another group of students. Their hostility poured back to Anna, like nauseous gas.

* * *

Anna lay awake in the sixth-year dormitory, waiting for her roommates to fall asleep. She shared a room with three other girls, she'd been unpleasantly surprised to learn. She would have thought that since their parents had raised them to believe they were precious and darling that all the girls would have demanded a room to themselves. " _No matter,_ " she thought resignedly, " _the lack of privacy is annoying, but there are always ways around that._ " The three girls—Daphne Greengrass, Pansy Parkinson and Millicent Bulstrode—had all made their feelings about sharing a room with the mudblood very clear, though Daphne was the most vocal about it. Anna wouldn't have been surprised if her repeated screeching of "Don't touch my stuff, mudblood!" and "Get away from me, freak!" Were heard on the other side of the castle.

She'd retired soon after the debacle in the common room, and upon doing so, went quickly to check on her luggage, to ensure those pesky house-elves didn't steal anything. Anna had learned from experience: She had terrible trouble with them when she was in Dubai, and didn't trust them at all. They were devious, mutinous creatures who fought your every command, she had discovered.

After ensuring that all was where she left it, Anna decided to unpack and take in the room that would be her new home for... however long she needed it to be. The room was large and rectangular, with a double-bed in each corner. Each bed was surrounded by heavy, green privacy drapes, and an assortment of furniture surrounded it: a large wardrobe, desk and bookshelf. The window in the room showed a beautiful underwater view of the Black Lake and all its inhabitants. The decor's color scheme featured shades of cream, green, silver and black, giving an overall impression that the place was tasteful and feminine. Anna had stayed in hotels—fashionable hotels—across Europe that were not so nice as this, and she grudgingly approved.

When she was certain her roommates were sound asleep, Anna slipped out of bed silently. Creeping to her desk, she took a piece of white chalk from where she'd left it and began to draw. Carefully, she chalked out runes on the floor around the corner which she had claimed. The runes glowed softly in the weak greenish glow given off by the lake, and disappeared once she finished. The ward was in place, and it was active. Even so, Anna decided to test it. She picked up a shoe, discarded by one of the others, and tossed it at her space. It landed with a quiet thump, and Anna knew precisely where, due to the ward.

Satisfied her things and privacy would be protected, she moved back to her bed, and drew the curtains around it. Pulling the necklace she wore from beneath her shirt, she placed the crystal pendant on the bed, and tapped the small piece of quartz there, enlarging it, so it became the size of a large apple. It glowed softly, almost imperceptably.

"Give me Leonardo," she commanded with a small surge of relief. She was back in her element. The large white crystal brightened for a long second before it projected the image of a young man on the green curtain.

"You rang?" he drawled with a mocking smile.

"I've come upon some unexpected complications," she reported. Her pale green eyes hardened and her demeanor shifted. Gone was little Anna Harrow, to be replaced with Armina Hart: the darkest witch in Europe.

"Complications! You've been there less than twelve hours," Leonardo said incredulously, and his Italian accent came out to play. "What the fuck happened?"

"Don't use that tone with me, Mr. Silva. Remember to whom you speak," Armina reprimanded with steel in her voice. "Firstly, I was put into Slytherin, as opposed to Ravenclaw like we planned. This isn't an unsolvable problem, but it does set us back a couple steps."

"How so?"

"It seems that an apparent muggle-born doesn't blend well with the ultra-precious purebloods of the English upper class. I offend them by existing without a suitable family name, apparently. Her pretty features twisted into an ugly sneer. "It will just take a little longer to melt into the background. That's all." She sighed and stretched.

"Why did you call me, then? You seem to have everything under control."

"There's another thing; I said "firstly", didn't I? And this could prove to be more troublesome."

"Go on," he urged impatiently. He quickly changed his tune when he noticed the narrowing of her ice-cold eyes.

Armina continued, "It seems that the school's pseudo-entree test is to be sorted by a hat that looks into one's mind."

Watching Leo's face pale, she was glad he understood the enormity of the situation. "You were able to keep it out though," he said hopefully. Armina's fluttering eyes told him all he needed to know. "Dear sweet Merlin, Mina! I knew this was a mistake. I knew this was too soon for you; I-"

"Are you suggesting that I am incapable?" She interrupted, jaw set, eyes full of fire. The temperature in the room dropped rapidly, and the other three girls shivered and curled up more tightly under their covers. "Are you trying to suggest I'm not ready?"

"N-n-no," Leo stuttered, hyper-aware of her anger. As well he should be.

"I should hope not," she said mildly. "We wouldn't want you to suffer... excommunication, would we?"

"I'm sorry; I didn't mean to suggest such a thing," he murmured softly.

"Indeed," Armina drawled. "I'm not stupid, Leo, despite what you seem to think," she said, all formality dropping away. He flinched, and she continued, professionally, "I was able to use partial-occlumency to ensure it didn't get anything vital."

"Partial-occlumency?"

She sighed tiredly and defined, "The act of shielding certain things in a memory. Blurring out someone's face, for example, or omitting the background in a scene or cutting off certain words in a conversation. That sort of thing. He got enough information to make him wary, but certainly not enough to put me in Azkaban."

"I've never even heard of partial-occlumency and yet you've mastered it."

"I invented it, fool."

"Figures," he huffed in response. "Are you sure it can't tell Dumbledore?"

"Reasonably, but I will check up on it, to be sure."

"Good," Leo exhaled. "Is that all then?"

"There is one more tiny problem. Do you know of a Lord Marvolo Slytherin?"

"Yes, of course," Leonardo said, surprised. "Don't you know him?" At her unimpressed look, he quickly continued: "Erm, well. He's incredibly powerful in Britain and well-known throughout Europe. I'm not sure how you haven't heard of him, at least."

"I've been busy, as well you know," she snapped. "Tell me all you know about him."

"Typical, powerful British politician, though his leanings are darker. I wouldn't say he was particularly opposed to muggle-borns, but his major supports definitely are. His claim to fame, I suppose you could say, is the "Slytherin" at the end of his name. He's the only true heir of one of the infamous founders of Hogwarts, Salazar Slytherin, thus placing him at a near god-like status on the British Isles. His numerous medals and trophies in hundreds of different dueling tournaments all over the world ensure that he is respected no matter where he goes. Why are you suddenly interested in him?"

"Because I think he might be my other half," Armina said softly.

"Your soul's mate!" Leonardo shouted.

"So it seems—mind, body, soul and all that bullshit."

"How do you know?" he whispered, a stark contrast to his previous shouting. Leonardo was shocked, as he had a right to be. He had known Mina since she was twelve, and considered her an emotionless bitch at the best of times. If she was declaring a soulmate...

"My magic reacts to him like no other—it's magnetic. And I saw it."

"Well... Maybe it's meant to be like this. Maybe you're meant to find your inam—"

"Shut up, Leo. I'm here for one thing, and one thing alone. No distractions necessary, and there's definitely no time for chasing happy endings. This sort of story isn't meant to end happily."

After a moment of awkward silence, Leo asked, "Is he going to be a problem, Mina?"

"If I keep a tight rein on my magic, I should be fine. But I want you to look into his past, just in case. Look for dirt; I might need a bargaining tool in the future."

"Yes, ma'm."

"You know you don't have to call me that."

Leo winked and she rolled her eyes. "I still think you should change your eye color. It's far too noticeable if you ask me," he said.

"But no one asked you, Leo. You know as well as I do why that's not possible," she reprimanded with barely-suppressed ire.

"Yes but—"

"But nothing, Leo. You know it's difficult maintain an eye color that isn't one's own, and my blood is... problematic in that regard. I can't afford a slip-up, exposing my natural eye color. Remember Cairo; details are important. Stop challenging me on this!"

"I'm... I apologise, my Lady. I did not know." Leo's eyes were downcast, his expression rather wounded. As if to rally himself, he raised his head and changed the topic. "Well as I'm here, I suppose you want an update on His location."

Armina gestured for him to continue.

"Last reports I got place him in Eastern Europe near Poland. We think he's picked up the false trail you left and is moving toward the USSR. How'd you do that, by the way?"

"Good. I don't need to tell you to keep an eye on him, but make sure he stays on that trail. Try and keep him preoccupied as well; I don't want him turning his focus to Britain. And I don't have to tell you everything, Leo." She said the last mildly, and he ducked his head quickly and said nothing more about it.

"Yes, ma'm."

"Ring me when you have something on Slytherin. I trust you'll be able to handle that." And then she hung up before Leo replied. There was nothing else that really needed to be said.

Sighing heavily, Anna tucked the necklace back under her shirt and lay back against the pillows. Her heavy eyelids fluttered closed, and she was content for this brief moment. The talk with Leo had reminded her who she was—which she hadn't forgotten, but she had buried deep. If she was going to become her persona, Mina would, for all intents and purposes, have to die.

" _But if Mina was truly gone, I don't think I would have been placed in this snake-pit,_ " she thought, and then drifted off to sleep.

* * *

 _Author's Note:_ Hey everyone!

I don't have a lot to say here, aside from a heartfelt apology as to why I haven't written anything.

I still don't own Harry Potter; JKR does. I still don't own this; Sephoria2 does.

If you liked this, please let me know what you think. Are there any changes you'd like to see in my version, as opposed to the original? Is my version BETTER than the original? ... You know what? Don't answer that. I don't want to know.

Read and review and enjoy!

—Avra Kedavra


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